


Once Bitten, Twice Shy

by orphan_account



Category: Preacher (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 07:50:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7631404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If somebody is said to be once bitten twice shy, it means that someone who has been hurt or who has had something go wrong will be far more careful the next time."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Bitten, Twice Shy

_Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever and ever. Amen._

My life has constantly been consumed by faith and religion, love and God. Words of gospel fall upon my lips every single night as I recite my prayers. For as long as I can remember, my family instilled this highly regarded belief and I had to play along. I do believe. Truly, I do, but I don't let my faith overwhelm my humane sense. A book supposedly written lifetimes ago will not dictate the choices I make today. If I may be so bold, I believe God didn't or doesn't want to amass a mindless cult following. Of course, he gained one nonetheless.

Faith is an important concept to life, even at the smallest of levels. A simple promise to a lifetime vow, both are just as strong when it comes to faith. When faith is taken to extremities, we explore the land of terrorists, murderers, and even simple people with a bad case of prejudicial thinking. Faith is like a drug. As long as you're taking it, it feels good. It feels amazing. Eventually, you could crash, but you'll force it into your system even if deep down, you disagree with it. In the end, you'll rise so high, the crash back down isn't something you can get back up from.

The faith of my father is a case of one of the extreme measures. Not the worst on the scale, but it's nothing good. His faith did the one thing you should never let faith do; blind your common sense, your humanity. My father hit me as punishment when I was a child, but that isn't my problem. That's not how he should've treated a child who made youthful mistakes. That's not how one should treat anyone who makes a mistake. He, however, pushed the boundaries when he hit my childhood friend, Samantha. Ignoring a big flaw of hitting a child, he hit a child that wasn't his own, but one of the most important points was his reasoning.

At the age of thirteen, Sam told me about her attraction to females over males and more so, her attraction to me. Most would believe the daughter of the most religious family in the city would shy away or attack her for who she is. I didn't. Simply, I asked her why. I meant it in the most polite way possible, seeing as I was young and this was a new topic for me. Why did she prefer females? Why did she like me of all people? There were prettier girls in the school, kinder ones too. Some with more talent. Some with more knowledge. Why me out of everyone? Well, she told me she didn't know why she felt the way she did, but she did know that she believed I was better than every other girl at our school.

The moment must've felt right to her because she leaned in and kissed me, full on the lips. Her intention was innocent enough, but her timing was very, very wrong. In the same moment, my father came into my room. The anger inside him almost felt tangible within the room. His shouts were vicious, coated with aggression and pain in a way. Sam and I were stricken with fear. My father had his outbursts, but this was...intense. He called her slur upon slur upon slur, throwing in a few insults and explaining how she'll burn in hell in between his ignorant words. She verbally attempted to defend herself, but was cut off by my father's hand across her face.

The room became completely silent. The intensity remained, however. I wanted to step in, defend Sam, but I was scared. The marks on my back, the scars on my arms. They tell stories no child should have to tell. According to my mother, he was once a sensitive man. I'm aware that my father has a kinder side. I've only ever seen it when he's with my mother, but I have no memories of him being nice to me. Maybe he was when I was a small child, four or five. Anything past that was constant abuse or force or verbal assault. I can't even recall the last time he said he loved me. I'm just a vessel to continue growing the family tree. Apparently, I'm supposed to pray and have children. If I didn't want children, I was supposed to be a nun, dedicate my life to faith.

I believed the fear of my father led to the loss of my best friend, at the time. Sam was told that if she ever came in contact with me, it'd be the last time she made contact with anyone. A grown man threatened a child's life. Due to his professional position as a priest and his familiar past with strict religious ties, no one believed Sam. Even her own parents just simply brushed it off.

I didn't get off any easier than Sam in this situation. My father beat me, told me about how I would burn if I made contact with Sam again. The next day, Sam and I avoided each other as much as we could. School was very difficult. The walk home was even harder. We lived on the same street so we always walked home together. With my father's rules enforced, I walked on one side of the street while she did on the opposite side. This whole endeavor was painful for the two of us until Sam and her family moved away our Freshmen year of high school. As cruel as it may sound, her leaving may have been better for the two of us. This distance made it literally impossible for us to share a connection thus making it impossible for us to get into trouble due to interaction.

A few years after all this, my father became very ill. Some would say he got what was coming to him. Part of me would agree. Maybe most of me would, but he was still my father and had part in sculpting who I am today. Whether it was karma or his health catching up to him, he died with one request of me. He wanted me to remain faithful to God.

I don't believe it makes up for what he had done to me throughout my youth, but he was very sincere, kind, and honest with me as he was preparing for death. Everyday, I would be seated at his side to pray with him. He revealed a side of him I had never seen before. He was afraid, afraid of dying. It was never admitted, but I was led to believe he was seeing that Heaven might not be where he's going after the life he's led. Judgement is between God and his soul so I've obviously no say in the matter. My father was not the kindest man. My father was not the strongest man. My father was not the smartest man. What is true of my father is his faith. It may have been misguided at times, but his strength, sincerity, and smarts lied with his faith.

Some cheered when my father died. Many gave their respect. My mother simply grieved. My relationship with my mother is very indifferent. She had no opinion or hand in my father's abuse, but she made no attempt to change things. With the Sam situation, she did partake in scolding me, but that is the only time she was a part of my father's parenting techniques. When she was in this broken state, I could not be at her side to see if she was willing to tear down the boundary between us, like my father. I was also unable to help her get through her sadness.

At the time, I was attending college. Amidst the sorrow within my family, I managed to find some light in my life. I overheard a friend of a friend speak of a familiar person at a party. I asked who specifically they were talking about and I was overjoyed. Samantha Carmichael, my best friend from my early childhood. Us meeting after such a long and troubled time had to be divine intervention. I convinced the acquaintance to give me Sam's number and rushed to my dorm. My approach was slow at first. I told her who I was and sent a picture. Her approach was quite the opposite. Immediately after the picture was sent, she called me, screaming in excitement. It only took a few days for us to rekindle our friendship with no hard feelings. She gave her condolences about my father, but still holds a grudge over what he did. I don't blame her.

Once I finished college, I came home to see my mother still in a state of grief. It had been four years since my father's death and my mother could not pry herself from the thought of him. Of what my family and neighbors had told me, she didn't leave the house at all. Friends and family had to feed her and take care of her prior to my arrival. She wouldn't speak to anyone. The only times I would hear her voice was when she'd pray at night or the occasional times she'd speak to my father. The spirit of him, I suppose. One night, all I heard was complete and utter silence coming from her room. It may have been normal for her to be quiet, but the absence of her prayers led me to my suspicion. I entered her bedroom to see her lifeless body on the ground, a pool of blood surrounding her. She took her own life with a simple kitchen knife. My mother was only forty-seven when she died, suicide. My father, fifty-one, declining health. Faith is hard to hold onto when things like these happen in one's life, but I made a promise to my father and although our relationship fluctuated at times, I intend to keep that promise.

After the funeral, I was left alone in an empty home that reeked of death, abuse, and sadness. My family was well off in our finances so I could suffice without a job. Slowly, I started to follow the patterns of a sickly homebody. It wasn't out of depression, but simply out of boredom. I had no career and had nothing to do outside that I couldn't do from the comfort of my own home. Eventually, Sam pulled me out of that unhealthy lifestyle. She prompted me to completely change my life and move in with her. This was an entirely new experience for me. I had never set foot With the abundant connections my family has, I managed to quicken the process of selling my family home and pack up my necessities. All of my clothes fit in one suitcase and any other items only needed a small bag. I kept my father's cross necklace and my mother's Bible, marked with what she deemed the most important passages. We sold every other piece of furniture and then the house within the month. All of the finances earned from the sales and my family's fund prior, some would say I was pretty well off. One ticket and I'm finally ready to move on with my life. This is where I am today.

As soon as the flight lands, I send a text to Sam and hurry to the passenger pick up area. I reach my destination and almost immediately hear a familiar voice. "Natalie M. Weissman, what a sight for sore eyes," The voice calls out. I turn to see Sam, mid-lunge with arms wide open. She pulls me into a tight hug, but my arms stay at my side. I can barely move for two reasons. One being Sam's intense grip around me and two is how in awe I am. We've been reconnected for the past few months, but it's still unbelievable to finally see her face-to-face again. "Don't you ever leave me again," She whispers before letting go of me. We commence a bit of small talk before getting into her car, driving... _home_ , I suppose.

The drive is dragging on much longer than I thought it would. If I'm not mistaken, we've been on the road for almost an hour now. "How much longer, Sam? I thought a five hour plane ride would be enough," I groan, shifting in my seat.

"Oh, shut up. We're almost there," She scolds. Staring out the window, I notice a rather decrepit looking church. Under closer inspection, I see the preacher and a woman in the churchyard. Sam must've seen me gawking at the building. "A guy named Ted died recently. Apparently, he ripped his own heart out. It's a shame that no one went to his funeral. Besides constantly complaining about his mom, he was an okay guy."

"He what now? You can't just gloss over someone ripping out their own heart!" I exclaim. She casually threw that in like I was supposed to be fine hearing that. Are things like that common around here?

She lightly chuckled. Why is she laughing? _How_ is she laughing at this? "Your reaction is hilarious." How am I supposed to react? "Yes, he ripped his own heart out. What more is there to say?" I mean, she is right. What more is there? Before we get into an continuous circle of the same idea, I keep quiet. I believe she acknowledges the attempt at silence seeing as she turns the music up. Throughout the drive, I stare out the car window, longing for a pretty sight. Don't get me wrong. I'm sure desolate and empty desert is lovely to some, but I would beg to differ. These wide, empty spaces are definitely something that a city girl like me is not accustom to. I suppose I also have to get used to all the sand and horrible heat.  
  
Keeping my eyes off of the time did help let time pass. Soon enough, we arrive at Sam's humble abode. It's a rather small house. "Where are your parents?" I ask as I pull my things out of the car. She really hadn't mentioned them during the course of our reaffirm.  
  
"I moved out of their house into this tiny place and after that, out of nowhere mind you, they up and left for Nevada," She says with a hint of aggression. "Needless to say, I was pissed off when they left me in this shit hole. I mean, I'm happy to call this place home now, but before I really grew up, this place was just the worst." Unlocking the front door, Sam lets me into the house. "Welcome to Casa Del Sammy!" She gives me a very quick tour before landing on the final room, the bedroom. Since this is a very small house, there's only one bedroom. It isn't entirely bad that I have to share her bed with her. She works at the local bar and tends to work later shifts, causing her to come home extremely late. She even told me that if it's too late and she's feeling too lazy, she won't even come home. Sometimes, she just passes out in the bar's storeroom. Her only co-worker, an older man named Joe, is actually lower then she is at this bar hierarchy so it's basically impossible for her to get in trouble for doing things like that. Her previous boss handed down to place to her when he retired in his seventies since she was the most prominent employee. The law says you have to be eighteen to work at a bar, but he gave her the job at seventeen so she has six years of experience at this place.  
  
Simply put, I basically have the bed to myself most of the time. The other choice to avoid this entire situation is to just sleep on the couch, but I was warned that it was as solid as a rock so I'll take my chances on the bed. My possessions are placed in Sam's... _our_ closet before meeting with her in the kitchen. "It's my first day in Annville, Texas," I say with a huff of relief. The trip was a tiresome journey. I think a calm night with my best friend would be ideal. "What is there to do around here?" I look around our relatively empty home. For a house that's been lived in for years now, it's still pretty empty. Seems like Sam only got the homely necessities. She doesn't even have a TV or anything. The only thing that isn't a basic need for a home is a small radio in the bedroom and maybe the couch could be considered a luxury.  
  
She pulls a beer out of the fridge and gestures an offering of one, but I shut her down on that one. "The bar's open to drink your sorrows away. The whorehouse is open to fuck your sorrows away. The church is open to pray your sorrows away," She answers with a smirk, taking a swig of beer. We sit on the uncomfortable couch to continue our discussion. "You could always chill here with the AC and...the empty space over there." At least she can acknowledge the emptiness in her house. Within a few months, I'll probably end up sprucing up the place.  
  
"What are we doing tonight, I mean?"  
  
"Bar, whorehouse, or church?" She gently chuckles, quickly adding, "Don't answer that. I know you'll just pick church." She's right. I'm not the drinking type. I'm not the sex addict or lesbian type to be at a whorehouse, assuming they only have women. The church is familiar to me. It might be stupid, but with all the down time it seems I'll be having, I think I'll stop by the church and maybe lend a hand or something. My religious ties make it a more attractive choice, but I also like helping. "Let's go to the bar. I can get us cheap drinks and we can chat, get to know each other some more." Surrounded by drunk people and betting that one of those drunk people will be Sam based on conversations we've had prior to my arrival doesn't sound like how I want to spend time with my best friend. Putting my opinion aside for the sake of Sam's, I agree to go. Look at us; heading to a bar while most normal people are calmly enjoying their dinner meal. I suppose I'm guessing normal people eat dinner at seven.  
  
In comparison to my previous car ride, this one's much quicker. We exit the car and enter the bar. As we open the door, the smell of alcohol runs straight through me. Sam is greeted by various passerby while I try to hide behind her, avoiding attention. We finally sit in the empty seat right in front of bar keeper. "Heya, Sammy. Who's your friend?" The bartender, which I would assume to be Joe, greets us. He has long hair and an almost equally long beard. The darkness in his hair is visibly fading into a grey. He's older than I expected.  
  
Sam throws her arm around me and responds, "Natalie. She's an old friend. Remember when the preacher came in and I was telling him about the Bible thumper who hit me? That was her dad." What a lovely story to tell the world, Sam. First kiss? No. Best friend? No. Her dad hit me, but she's cool? That's the important story that will continually represent me. "She's all good though. She's not like her dad."  
  
The bartender reaches out to shake my hand. Placing my hand in his, I notice a sincere smile behind his bushy beard as well as his soft blue eyes. I hope he's as kind as he seems. "Nice to meet you. The name's Joe. Now, what can I get you, little lady?" He asks me.  
  
"She doesn't drink. She'll drive me home once I get shitfaced." I have a mouth. I can speak for myself. For now, I simply nod. "Enough small chat, let the drinking begin!" She exclaims, eyes locked on me. I'm sure this will be quite the experience. Of what I know, she just goes off and orders a ton of stuff. I try to carry a conversation with her, but we don't get very far. Without Sam, there isn't much for me to do. I try to talk with Joe, but he's busy tending to Sam's and other people's addiction. I'll just sit and wait until she's ready to leave. Until then, I scope the area and watch others.  There's no one interesting unless you count the dude who looks like a total douche. He's wearing sunglasses inside. You know who does that? Blind people...and douchebags. He's also super pale. Like, for a person wearing sunglasses you don't seem to get a lot of sun. Knocking me out of my thoughts, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn to see Sam shoving a drink towards me. "I'm gonna head to the ladies' room. Watch my drink." How much has she drank anyway? I mean, she's drank a substantial amount of what I know, but she still seems of sound mind. Either she definitely has the stomach for alcoholism or she's good at masking intoxication.  
  
I stare down into Sam's murky, brownish beverage. No matter what I'm told, I can never understand how people drink things like these. Most drinks look ambiguous to the point where you don't know what to feel about them and they either smell like nothing or smell so strong, you lose a few nostril hairs. The taste is gross. Period. Even people who drink tell me that it tastes good _after_ a few glasses. Why would you suffer through multiple glasses just to get drunk? The drinks that look good are super expensive and probably taste like all the other drinks. Of course, I wouldn't know. I've had sips of drinks here and there, but never really got into it. The only drink I've really had was communion wine. I didn't enjoy it, but I had to drink it.   
  
After some time, I notice Sam walking out of the bathroom. Standing in her way is Douchebag McGee. I prepare to stand up, getting ready to defend her, if needed. His rather creepy demeanor fades as the two seem to be calmly conversing. I still keep strict eye on him, but a huge wave of relief overwhelms me. I thought I was going to have to get into a fight. A weak little lady like me wouldn't survive a fight. He doesn't look very strong, but he looks pretty tall, towering over me by at least five inches. Sam gleefully comes back, snatching the drink out of my grasp. "Who was that?" I ask.  
  
"Oh, that's Cassidy. You don't need to worry about him," She answers with a grin. Of course, she goes back to drinking and back to ignoring me. Douchebag McGee is actually named Cassidy and apparently, I don't need to worry about him. I would ask more questions because part of me is still worried about him, but I'm drowned out by Sam's alcohol. I turn to see Cassidy staring at me... _or_ Sam... _or_ the bar. I wouldn't know because his dark sunglasses are in the way. All I can tell is that he's staring in my general vicinity. I try to turn away as fast and as nonchalantly as I can. I wait a few moments before finally accepting that he's not going to try and approach me or Sam or the bar. Well, eventually, he has to approach the bar to get more drinks, but he can approach the side of the bar that I'm not sitting at.  
  
Time drags on until it's finally two in the morning. Yep. Sam held herself up until two in the morning. After collapsing over stools and tripping over nothing, I decide to guide her to the car. I mean, I didn't have much of a choice. It's closing time. With a bit of struggling, I finally get her into the backseat where she almost instantly passes out. Buckling her in, I get out and make my way to the driver's seat. As my hand reaches the door, I hear shuffling of footsteps followed by keys. The parking lot, if you could call the empty space next to the bar that, is only occupied by Sam's car and one other car. I take a quick look at who's there. Are you kidding me? It's Cassidy. Whether that's lucky or unlucky, that's up for debate. It seems as though he's so drunk, he can barley put the keys into the car door without dropping them.  
  
Easily, I could mind my business and drive home. That _would_ be the smarter choice, right? The good samaritan in me believes otherwise. Letting a drunk man into the roads is dangerous for others and himself. I sigh, turning around as I begin to approach Cassidy. He's too busy fumbling with his keys to notice me. "Um. Cassidy, is it?" I call out. He turns with what I could only assume is a confused look. Dark glasses in the way again. "Do you need a ride home? I-I just noticed you were struggling and I thought I could help." I'm probably horrible at navigating this dust town, but that's what GPS is for. Slowly, he walks towards me, visibly faltering in his abilities. I'll take that as a yes. I swear, that pesky goodness is really annoying. One more deep breath and I meet him in the middle, throwing his arm around me to stabilize him. Ugh, the smell of this man is just strong in the worst possible way. I hear him muttering...something. I cannot understand him at all. Oh, well. Hopefully, he isn't saying anything important. More than likely unbeknownst to him, I _can_ tell he's looking down my shirt. His glasses can't block that. Even though he's making me a bit uncomfortable, he seems like a friend of Sam's and a friend of hers is a friend of mine. Yes, I'm taking a small leap of faith believing that, but just saying he looked like he needed help isn't going to _entirely_ cut it for me.  
  
Once we reach the car, I guide him into the passenger seat. I don't want to sit next to him, but my distrust for him makes it entirely plausible for him to try and make a move on Sam if I put him in the backseat with her. He messes around with the seat belt before finally getting it on. Thank God. I wouldn't want to reach over his body and put it on for him. I get into the driver's seat and ask, "Okay, Cassidy. Where do you live?" Silence. I repeat myself as I put on my seat belt. Silence again. I turn to see him fast asleep. Are you kidding me? What to do, what to do. I could simply wake him up, but what if he's an angry riser or what if he's one of those drunks that refuses to wake up until they're ready to do so. Another choice is just drop him off in the middle of nowhere, but that kinda defeats my whole _I'm a good person_ debacle. The final choice and the choice I am most hesitant about is bringing him back to the house. He could be dangerous. He could also not be dangerous. I can't believe I'm making this choice, but Sam wouldn't mind another house guest, right? I do a subtle look-see to make sure he doesn't have anything particularly dangerous on him. Cigarettes and a lighter, some money and keys, a small bottle of...mystery liquid, but nothing dangerous. Well, dangerous to his health, but not dangerous to Sam and I. With his pockets in check, I drive off home.  
  
When we arrived at the house, I basically had to carry Sam inside. I toss her onto the bed and rush back outside to deal with Cassidy. There's no way I can carry him like I did Sam and I am _not_ leaving him in the car. "Cassidy," I whisper-shout directly into his ear. Nothing. I shake him by his shoulder, by his leg, by his arm, but to no avail. Okay, we've a slight chance of this next plan working and if it doesn't he's just going to get a face plant directly into the ground. Maybe if I start carrying him, he'll feel the movement and begin carrying his own weight. I really hope this goes right. I don't want an angry, drunk douche after me. I lean him forward and place his arm around my shoulder. Dragging him out until he's at the edge of the seat, I think about what I'm aiming to do. How am I supposed to carry someone bigger than me? Over the shoulder? Piggy back? Like a baby? Wait. I'm an idiot! I could just drag him. Sure, his butt and back might get a little chaffed on the concrete path and lifting him up the steps might be a pain, but it's better than carrying him.  
  
I wrap my arms under his and tug him out the car. His nods back and fourth like a bobble-head. It's kinda funny, but now is not the time for jokes. I wanna get into this house before the sun rises, please. I want at least an hour of sleep and it's tough for me to do so when the sun is out. After struggling with Cassidy and praying that no one sees me dragging this seemingly lifeless body into my new home, I finally manage to get him into the house and onto the living room floor. I use the last of my energy to pry him off the ground and heave him onto the uncomfortable couch. Almost instantly after that, I throw myself onto the tiny bit of room left on the couch. Falling asleep next to this strange, drunk man isn't this smartest thing to do, but it's what my body wants. The feeling of exhaustion falls over me and soon enough, I drift off into sleep.  
  
Today was a hell of a ride. I suppose it's my **welcome to Annville**. 


End file.
